Yes, I went there
by Radioactive Rubber Duck
Summary: Calum is woken in the night by strange noises. A thief from another time has come a-hunting to Darrowby. I regret nothing.


**I got overtired and hyper, and thought that it would be hilarious if this existed. That was yesterday, I got overtired and a bit hyper again tonight and thought, why not make the dream a reality? And prove to my brother that I would actually do this. SO, I have done this. I apologise wholeheartedl- wait, no, I don't. I regret nothing. I harbour few delusions that this will ever be read, so no, I have not read back through it. Sincere apologies this time. *grin* If you are someone reading this, then whoever you are, I am proud of you for finding this, and I'm not sure what you were doing to do so. Enjoy.**

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For the third night in a row, Calum Buchanan was awake at 2 O'clock in the morning, mind dominated by sluggish thoughts of how much more bloody peaceful it would be to be in his own house, where people didn't come clattering in at awful hours of the night. That it was usually him who did the clattering was beside the point, anyway, he only did it (on average) once per evening out, whereas for each of his recent awakenings he had somewhat blurry but nonetheless definitely accurate memories of Tristan coming home from the Drover's with him, singing loudly.

Why the bloody hell would he have gone _back out? _

No, wait; he knew the answer to that, somewhere underneath the pile of sleepy mush clouding his brain. Millicent, that was her name, wasn't it? Or Margaret or something like that. Bright-eyed little brunette who worked at the greengrocer's, whose father absolutely detested the idea of her ending up with a '_soft, suit-wearing nancy boy_' such as themselves, and would much rather she found herself some good, salt of the earth farm hand who hadn't seen the original colour of his shirt since he left his mother's house. To which, of course, she rebelled as strongly as she could. In secret. At night time. Which is why Tristan had disappeared, silent as a thief, from Skeldale every night that week, re-entering during the small hours with all the grace of that same thief when being chased by a pack of slavering police hounds down a small alleyway.

Groaning and throwing back the blankets, Calum pushed himself up out of the bed and disorientatedly shoved himself into his dressing gown, stomping down the stairs with all due force to confront the other vet. Why the hell did he have to come and stay in the house while Siegfried was away? Wasn't having Tristan around the place enough? If Siegfried hated the mess so much, then perhaps letting him live in his own home might help with that?

"Tristan, fer christ' sakes, if yer insist upon goin' out to visit that girl, would yer at least not trample yer way back in like so many herds of g-" Calum stopped as a face loomed up at him out of the darkness at the bottom of the stairs; thin, and so white it was almost yellow, it grinned sadistically up at him with pointed little teeth, dark eyes narrowing to slits as the apparition rose up to meet him. A mane of white hair, grey in the gloom, materialised around the spectre-like features, and a glint of metal flickered up at him from somewhere around the boy's chest.

Calum stared down at him, mouth hanging limply open, before his brain kicked in to gear. His first thought was that, contrary to his hair colour, the person before him was clearly still not even an adult, and would be no match for him in a fight. His second thought, occurring just as his fists clenched and his jaw set, was that, having shown so far no sign of violence or shock at being caught, this night time visitor may be just one more in a long line of highly bizarre and socially ill-equipped clients.

Before his sleep-addled body could act upon either of these notions, however, the figure ascended the stairs between them, revealing a tall and frighteningly skinny body, before thrusting out a chalky palm towards Calum's forehead. Before, the "Wha-?" was even out of his mouth, his knees buckled beneath him as his entire body was overcome by a nauseating dizziness that had nothing to do with either the alcohol still in his system or the head cold he was still recovering from.

When he managed to stand up again, he was stood, complete with dressing gown and felt slipper, suspended in a vast blackness, stretching out around him. Within the darkness translucent, shaky eyes blinked and stared, swivelling to stare at him. A purple mist floated on nonexistent wind, clouding his vision further and sending shivers through his already chilled body.

A grim laugh reached him through the darkness, and, as ever when confronted with difficulties, he groaned loudly, rolled his eyes, and reached into his pocket for his pipe. Disappointed by this effort, he thought bleakly of the bottle of scotch in the now so distant living room as the laugh's ghostly owner, the same boy who had seemingly brought him ear, appeared from a cloud of violet fog and leered right into his face.

"Welcome to the shadow realm."

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**No, just in case you were wondering, I am not James Herriot and I do not own the books. I also do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. And, luckily for him, I do not own Calum Buchanan.**


End file.
